


Known By Heart

by Cloudy_Serendipity



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Crushes, During The Hobbit, Dwarves, Elves, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Gay Kiss, First Kiss, Fluff, Gay Male Character, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, In Response to a Male Reader Insert Prompt, LARPing, M/M, Magic, Male POV, Middle Earth, Mild Language, Rescue, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trolls, gay reader, male reader - Freeform, nerd reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-07-24 00:50:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20017561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudy_Serendipity/pseuds/Cloudy_Serendipity
Summary: This is a tale of wizards, dwarves, elves, trolls, dragons, and a pair of nerds lost in the wild.Your breath stole from your lungs as he pursed his lips gently against the back of your hand, lingering against your skin as he exhaled a long nasal sigh.  He pulled both of your hands against his chest and closed his eyes.  No words were spoken.  No movements made other that the rise and fall of your chests as you breathed.  It wasn’t a kiss exactly but it was as close as you’d ever come with him.  The ghost of a possibility had opened up to you although, in this place, with all that was going on, it was still something not to be taken for granted.





	1. Unexpected Journey

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [malereaderinsertscollection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/malereaderinsertscollection) collection. 



> This is my first Tolkien fic and, as an avid fan, I found this both exciting and daunting to write. It's a huge name to live up to, not that I could manage more than one or two steps up towards the dais of that mammoth pedestal. It's also my first gay fic and my first proper x reader fic - jeez I'm just ploughing through those firsts!
> 
> I feel like I claimed this prompt so long ago but have been sitting on the first few chapters for way too long - I hope that posting some of this will encourage me to write more, and write faster.
> 
> I'm starting off following a path along the lines of The Hobbit, drawing from the literature more than the film as is my preference, and trying to keep in tune with the feel of Tolkien's writing (wish me luck on that). Some of the speech, especially with the trolls early on, is quoted from the book to set the exact place within the tale.
> 
> The only characters that are mine are that of the reader and his crush. All the rest are from Tolkien's works and I'm playing with them without permission.
> 
> Throughout the story I'll likely reference things from The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Unfinished Tales and The Silmarillion - if I don't the you've gotten off lightly ;)
> 
> This tale is also an unfinished one but I hope to keep progressing with it in the future - my apologies to the person who requested the prompt that I'm not giving you a completed work just yet but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Peace :)

The loud clanging of metal on metal rang out across the field. Men dressed in medieval garb, hefting authentic-looking long swords fought it out in a makeshift arena marked by flags and rope cordons. The melee was in full swing.

In the background the nasal tone of a shawm, the melodic lilt of a lute, and a drum carried a merry tune to your ears. A jester danced and performed juggling tricks for an audience of children nearby. There was laughter, high spirits, delicious mead and several buff and sweaty men under your gaze. One in particular held your eye.

The sun was high and it was hot as you kicked back on the grass. Propped up on your elbows, you watched the medieval re-enactment reach a crescendo. There were only two knights left now, the Menacing Red Knight of the South and the Valiant Blue Knight of the North.

Alan was the blue knight. You liked to think of him as _your_ knight, in cumbersome cloth and leather armour, but yours nonetheless. Shame he was oblivious to this idea, maybe he’d have gone for it, maybe not; he wasn’t gay and you weren’t desperate enough to get into his pants to risk ruining a beautiful friendship.

Your daydreaming robbed you of the vision of the now victorious Blue Knight as he played up to the crowd, waving and encouraging cheers from the spectators.

Alan was an outstanding swordsman, and all round fighter. All that testosterone surely put him firmly in the straight camp but your being out never bothered him one bit, he’d been your friend since the two of you met at a LARP event. You’d been there for the LOTR events and he’d been there smithing. Yes, Alan was a metal worker, and he made his own swords. You rolled your eyes every time you heard him brag about it but you’re always pretty damn proud of him.

Anyway, that was four years ago and you’d been friends ever since.

“Hey!” Alan clumped over, heavily. You could tell he was tired. “Can I grab your water?”

You handed him your bottle without question. That man could ask anything of you and you’d gladly give it.

“You kicked ass out there.” You said, appreciating the taught tendons in his neck and the bobbing of his adam's apple as he drank. “Hail the victorious Blue Knight of the North!” You put on your best announcer voice.

Alan spluttered a little, laughing with a mouthful of water. “Dork!” He scoffed.

“That would be _nerd_ to you, sir knight.” You corrected, waving aloft your extremely dogeared copy of The Silmarillion.

“There’s a new attraction here today, you wanna check it out?” Alan said, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked past the castle ruins to a row of colourful tents near the treeline. “It’s a medieval fortune teller.” He wiggled his eyebrows knowing that you could scarcely restrain yourself when there was something mysterious afoot.

“Lead the way!”

He held his hand out to help you up and when you reached for it he pulled away, poking his tongue out and wiggling his fingers in front of his nose in a childish tease.

“Douche.” You groaned, watching him jog away with his huge pack jiggling on his back as you dusted dried grass off your pants and followed behind.

It turned out that the fortune teller was less of a fortune teller and more of a medieval witchcraft type of thing. This whole thing was all for show but you couldn’t help the hairs on the back of your neck bristling when you entered the tent. It was surprisingly cool and quiet despite the tent being open. Some noise at least should have filtered inside.

The only occupant was a woman in the corner, dressed in a plain dark dress and a white hood. She looked very Florence nightingale to be honest even though that was completely the wrong era. She hadn’t spoken but remained watchful, lending a creepy air to the whole exhibition.

There were artefacts spread out on her work table along with signs that stated clearly ‘DO NOT TOUCH’. But those signs were for everyone else, you were curious, and one deep red stone clutched in a claw that looked like it was straight out of a taxidermist’s fantasy looked particularly intriguing.

“Don’t.” Alan chastised as your fingers reached for the stone.

He tried to snatch your hand away but was too late. The resulting jolt was like a car emergency breaking. You both were thrown forward, landing face first in the damp grass.

Sharp twigs scratched your skin as you tried to right yourself. Alan groaned beside you, he was fully tangled in a briar thicket, his pack all snagged up in the branches. With trees all around you, you had no idea what was what.

“Ehh?” You shook the dizziness out of your head and looked again.

Nope. The trees were still there, and the tent was gone.

What the fuck was going on?


	2. Well Met!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Alan find yourselves in the Trollshaws where you play understudy to The Grey Pilgrim, saving Thorin and Co. Gandalf is suspicious but allows you to tag along on their journey to Rivendell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with Tom, Bert and Bill. After this I won't be quoting so much of the dialog from the book.
> 
> This is a much longer chapter to make up for the short first chapter. Hope you enjoy :)

After bickering for fifteen minutes and crashing around the damp and gloomy woods, you and Alan came to a conclusion.

“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.” You said, holding your phone aloft trying to get signal.

Nothing.

“That’s impossible.” Alan was always so firmly rooted in logic and tangible things he could see and touch. Taking something like this on faith was difficult for him.

“Spock said it best.” You said trying to reassure him. “Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbably, must be the truth.”

“Yeah well we’re not at Tatton Park anymore, that’s for sure but I have no idea where the hell we _actually_ are, even if it’s a where and not a when.”

“Now you’re getting it!” Your enthusiasm for adventure spilled forth.

He grinned then, and it nearly flawed you. The man was fucking beautiful.

“Come on, it’s getting dark and we’ll get hypothermia if we don’t find someplace to shelter.” He set off along a lightly worn path through the undergrowth, leaving you to follow in his wake.

By the time you found a decent place to camp out, the air around you was oppressive. The dark greys and blacks of the thickening night were closing in and it felt like you were collapsing in on yourself.

In the close dark under a dense bush of unknown variety, huddled on the lumpy cloth surcoat of Alan’s LARP get-up, you both lay shivering. The cold and his closeness were the only things keeping your panic at bay.

Alan was practical but you had no means to start a fire, and all the wood and moss in this unfriendly place was damp anyway. He’d insisted on finding cover, who knew what kinds of animals roamed freely especially at night.

Your phone had said it was just after 5pm but that wasn’t right, it was too dark for that. In this unknown place or unknown time, all the rules were bent out of shape. It was unnerving.

Dozing lightly, comforted by the rhythmic sounds of Alan’s peaceful breathing, you listened to the noises of the night. Insects chittered and chirped; a cacophony that increased in volume the more you listened. An owl, screeching in the distance. The wind rustling high up in the trees, too far up to bring its refreshing breath down here where the air was still and heavy. The distant sound of laughter.

You jolted upright, catching your head on twigs that drew a hiss of pain from your lips. Alan grunted awake. Both of you sat for a moment hearts hammering for different reasons. His was in confusion, yours was in hope.

“You ok?” He patted around until he found your arm, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

“I can hear people talking.” You listened harder, holding your breath to minimise the local sounds. Alan followed your lead.

Stretching your senses outward you could make out words.

“There’s more to come yet, or I’m mighty mistook.” A deep voice rumbled. “Lots and non at all, it is.”

Wait what?

“No burrahobbits, but lots of these ‘ere dwarves. That’s about the shape of it!” The voice continued.

“I reckon you’re right.” Another, more nasal, voice added. “And we best get out of the light.”

You knew those words, recognised them in a deep place reserved only for things well and truly committed to memory. Things like the lyrics of a favourite song, or a quote from a favourite…

_Ohhhhhh!_

“Holy shit!” You hissed with excitement. “I know where we are!”

“What are you talking about?” Alan whispered, sounding concerned.

“You’re not going to believe me when I tell you this but we’re in The Trollshaws, East Eriador.”

“Eriador? As in Middle-earth Eriador?”

“Yep!”

You couldn’t help the immense bubbling happiness that swelled in your chest. This was like a dream come true for you. You’d read and seen everything ever produced in the name of Tolkien, knew it all by heart. Even the languages, there was nothing you didn’t know about this place and those tales. You even had your own Lord of the Rings name: Anol Etir.

It had tickled you at the time, Anol sounding so much like anal that you couldn’t resist. It was a Maiar name, a name of power, like Olórin; Mithrandir, Gandalf.

_Gandalf!_

You scrabbled out from your hiding place, ignoring Alan’s pleas of ‘wait’ and ‘be careful’. He followed behind after stuffing his things into his pack.

The fire and the trolls were not far away. By the time you drew near enough to see the hulking forms of the trolls, you were cautious and more than a little nervous. There had been a commotion and a great deal of clamouring, and now there were thirteen sacks laid out by the fire, each with a pair of boots poking out.

Bert, Tom, and Bill were sat around, discussing how to cook their new larder additions.

“Is that…?” Alan whispered.

“Thorin’s company.” You sighed. Gandalf would have to be around here somewhere. He was supposed to rescue them after all.

The two of you watched the scene for a while and it was quickly becoming apparent that Gandalf was not coming. Had your presence here disrupted the timeline, story, whatever? Or was this a world where the heroes of the tales were meant to fail.

You had to act, and soon, or Thorin and the rest of the company would be squished into jelly.

“No good roasting ‘em now.” You quoted gruffly, throwing your voice. “It’ll take all night.”

“What are you doing?” Alan hissed, barely more than a whisper. “You’ll get us caught too.”

“Don’t start the argument all over again, Bill, or it _will_ take all night.” Came the troll’s reply.

“Who’s arguing?”

“You are!”

The trolls regressed to bickering again and were more concerned with themselves than anything else.

You led Alan a little further around their camp, a touch closer, where you could see better. There was a slight lightening in the sky through a clearing in the wood, a slightly lighter black growing in a dip between two hills in the distance.

The trolls had just decided to mince the dwarves and boil them when you two had settled in your new hiding place.

“No good boiling ‘em, we ain’t got no water.” You said thickly, letting your voice carry to the fireside. “It’s a long way to the well, and all.”

“Shut up, Tom! Or we’ll never have done with it! And yer can fetch the water yerself if yer say anymore!” Bill growled

“Shut up, yerself!” Tom said. “Ain’t nobody arguing but you.”

“You’re a booby.” Said Bill.

“Booby yerself!” Said Tom.

You almost laughed to yourself as the trolls carried on their argument, Thorin’s company forgotten once again.

Alan shot you an impressed glance, barely visible in the lessening night. The fire light caught his eye, the gleam was pure poetry, dancing against the dark orbs as he watched the scene unfold.

“Who shall we sit on first.” You said, perfectly on cue.

The trolls had just decided to squash the dwarves and cook them later.

“Better sit on the last fellow first.” Said Bert, rubbing the eye that you knew had been burned by Thorin earlier.

“Don’t talk to yerself.” Tom grumbled. “Which one is he again?”

“The one with the yellow stockings.” Bert said with a sneer.

“Nonsense!” You piped up, enjoying every second of the mischief you were creating. “He’s the one with the grey stockings.” 

“I made sure it was yellow.” Bert rubbed his head, getting confused.

“Yellow it was.” Said William.

“Then why did you say grey?”

“I never.”

“It’s two to one so shut yer trap!”

The trolls were too busy bickering again to notice that the sun was creeping over the horizon. Soon it would be too late and the first rays of light would turn the trolls to stone.

And sure enough, the suns light pierced the horizon, shocking all three trolls into silence, turning them to stone. Exactly like it happened in the book.

You felt elated. You’d played Gandalf in this little exchange and saved Thorin’s company from certain doom. But where was the grey pilgrim? Had he not known his friends needed him?

Dashing forward with Alan on your heels, you reached the dwarves who were exhausted from their wriggling.

“Help me set them free!”

A quiet rustling behind you startled Alan. He drew his sword ready to defend against an attack. You knew who it was, without even looking.

“It’s just Bilbo.” You laid your hand on his, gently pushing his blade down to the ground.

“Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” The hobbit bowed deeply. “Although it seems you have already met me without me having any kind of meeting with you.” The hobbit blinked, bothered and confused.

“Well met, Bilbo!” You offered your hand to shake. “I am Anol Etir. And this is my, uhhh, squire.”

Alan rolled his eyes at ‘squire’.

“Alan. At your service.” He sheathed his sword.

“If there are meetings to be had, I should very much like to be invited!” Thorin grumbled, rolling around in his sack on the ground. “After all, this is _my_ company.”

With all the dwarves freed and all the introductions done, Thorin eyed you suspiciously. You knew the clothes, haircut, and the unusual speech would draw attention to the fact that you just didn’t belong here.

“However you came across our company the way you did, we are very grateful.” Bombur said, frowning at Bilbo. “It was a silly time to practice pocket-picking.”

“It was a silly time to be stuck in a forest without a fire or food.” Bilbo grumbled.

This was all too surreal. You had actually met Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins, though they looked nothing like they did in the films, which only confirmed your theory that you were actually here in Middle-earth. The dangers were real but this was an adventure, and you were certainly going to embrace it.

“There should be a cave around here somewhere.” You said, looking around. “Trolls have to go somewhere when the sun is up.”

It took only moments to find simply by following your nose, or more aptly, Thorin’s nose. There were bones of animals, dried pelts and clothing. Trolls weren’t picky what they ate, as long as it had a pulse at one point they’d munch on it.

There were also weapons and supplies. Thorin’s company filled up on what they could get and Alan did the same. Discarding his LARP costume for something practical and functional from the pile of spoils.

On the wall were two beautiful scabbards, encrusted with jewels and ornate engravings. You lifted one down, as did Thorin. Pulling the blade free of the sheath the gleam of the metal was pristine.

“Glamdring.” You breathed with awe.

Everyone around you seemed to stop and stare. These elven blades were thought to be lost.

“And Orchrist.” You pointed to the flawless blade in Thorin’s hands.

“You are a mystery, friend.” He said to you as he smoothed his fingers lustfully over the engraved runes.

“So it would seem.” A deep voice sounded from the entrance. “Mysterious enough to elude even _my_ sight.”

Gandalf considered you carefully, his scrutiny all too piercing.

“Gandalf!” You couldn’t help but grin. You bowed lightly, offering him the sword in your hands, it was meant to be his, after all.

“Yes, that is my name. Though something tells me that you know me by another name?” He frowned and accepted the weapon readily, casting a quick glance at Alan who stood in shock. “Come! We are a few days from Rivendell. There we will find rest and hospitality.”

“What was that all about?” Alan whispered into your ear as you both traipsed after the party.

You had both become quite conspiratorial since encountering Thorin’s company, choosing to keep your ‘otherness’ to yourselves.

“I think he knows we’re not from round here.” 

Later that evening under the stars, sat by a fire with the dwarves, a hobbit and a wizard, you’d eaten in sporadic silence, talking ambiguously about yourselves only when pressed to do so.

Separating after to get some rest, you lay down beside Alan and listened to him breathing.

He inhaled quickly as if he was going to speak but didn’t. Instead he turned to look at you. There was something in the way he stared at you then. He looked lost and more than a little hopeless.

“Do you think we’ll ever get home?” He said finally.

“I don’t know.” It was the truth.

Part of you was thrilled to be here, you had more of what you loved right here in this moment than you had back home. The other part of you was scared about what would happen.

“I think there’s more chance we’ll die here than there is of us going home.” He said softly, hesitantly, as if to say the words was to tempt fate.

“Gandalf might know how to help us, but he doesn’t really trust us yet. Maybe if we help them on their quest…” The idea was just starting to form. “I mean, I have the knowledge, and you’re a badass knight. Maybe if we help them they’ll help us?”

“It’s as good a plan as any.”

“And if we are stuck here,” you said, reaching to give his bicep a comforting squeeze, “there’s no one I’d rather be stuck here with.”

It was sappy and you didn’t know what had gotten into you. Maybe it was the excitement of meeting your fictitious idol in some twist of fate that broke the laws of reality wide open. Maybe it was being lay here with Alan, so close you could feel his breath on your face, seeing the wet gleam in his eyes as he struggled with the possibilities of his fate. You prayed to the Valar that Alan wouldn’t get spooked.

As if sensing your panic he reached across himself and took your hand from his arm, clasped it tightly in his own, palms together with your thumb in his grip as if you were making a pact. Slowly he brought it gently to his mouth.

Your breath stole from your lungs as he pursed his lips gently against the back of your hand, lingering against your skin as he exhaled a long nasal sigh. He pulled both of your hands against his chest and closed his eyes. No words were spoken. No movements made other that the rise and fall of your chests as you breathed. It wasn’t a kiss exactly but it was as close as you’d ever come with him. The ghost of a possibility had opened up to you although, in this place, with all that was going on, it was still something not to be taken for granted.

The thumping of your heart and the woosh of your pulse in your ears drowned out all sound until what felt like hours later you became aware of the other members of the party.

The fire crackled eagerly, still burning well despite the wind across the plain. The smell of smoke was strong but not unpleasant as you lay listening to the voices. Thorin and Gandalf were talking.

“What made you come back?” Thorin puffed on his pipe.

“Looking behind.” Gandalf chuckled. “Though I needn’t have.” He nodded to where you were lay pretending to sleep.

“They’re a strange pair.” Thorin mused. “They’re not elves, though.” He puffed again. “They don’t have the tell-tale elvish stink.”

They both chuckled.

“Strange though that the more vocal one, Anol, seems to have a greater knowledge than even I on matters concerning these lands.” Gandalf blew three smoke rings that looped together to form a celtic-knot design. “Stranger still that they seemed to arrive just in time to save you all from those trolls.”

There was a long pause where Gandalf stared into the fire, his eyes glazed over as if he were watching a memory or gazing into one of the seeing stones.

“The words were like they were my own.” He muttered after a while.

“Come again?” Thorin was confused but interested.

“When I arrived to find you, all tied up in sacks, I decided the best plan of action was a distraction. Fighting would only get you all trampled on and what good would that do? No quest was ever completed with a company of squashed dwarves.” Gandalf twiddled his long pipe in his fingers thoughtfully, a cheeky glint in his eye. “I had just drawn breath to speak when the words came from nowhere. It was like he’d read my mind.”

Thorin’s bushy eyebrows were raised in surprise, engrossed by the pensive tone to Gandalf’s voice, like he was telling one of the great tales.

“It was a curious feeling, like being a step behind yourself.”

“I won’t deny they could be useful, especially the swordsman, but our quest is a sensitive one that I won’t risk for the sake of indulging a curiosity.”

“Nor would I expect it, Thorin, son of Thrain. You have ever been of your own mind. Even I could not persuade you otherwise.

“What to do, what to do.” The dwarf pondered aloud.

“We are still on schedule and will descend into the Bruinen valley tomorrow. We will reach Rivendell before dusk. Elrond will know what to do.”


	3. The Road to Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The company reaches Rivedell and you live out one of your dreams - real live elvish, not just spoken but sung! How wonderful!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem the elves sing when the company is entering Rivendell is quoted from The Hobbit. You can't not do the poems, man!
> 
> Short chapter again. Guess the next one will be long ;)

The rustle of someone moving nearby startled you out of sleep. It was still fairly dark and the fire was dead but there was a shadow, hurriedly moving from sleeping dwarf to sleeping dwarf, shaking them and hissing for them to wake up.

Alan’s arm lay draped over your ribs and his warm chest was at your back. You both must have moved in your sleep because you fell asleep with your hand still clasped in his, held softly against his chest. Not that you were complaining, being the little spoon was your favourite way to sleep, but you weren’t sure how Alan would react to this involuntary arrangement.

The teal-blue hooded form of Kili approached you, stopping when he saw how you had slept. A quick frown and he knelt by you to wake you.

“I’m already awake.” You said quietly.

“Oh, right.” He looked taken aback. “Pack up quietly, we are being followed.”

Shit! If that didn’t get your attention then nothing else would. You shook Alan’s arm as you turned to him. His eyes snapped open, softening when he saw you looking at him. The cute, lop-sided smile he gave you made your gut clench. He looked like a cuddly teddy, all tousled hair and soft brown eyes. _Damn!_

“Time to move. Kili said there’s someone after us.” You whispered. “Quietly.”

“What is it? You should know.”

In your sleep-addled state you hadn’t even stopped to think. Now that you came to think about it, there wasn’t anything from the book about this but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any danger.

“We’re close to the Loudwater.” You said thoughtfully. “Gandalf is taking us to Rivendell. The lands are protected by strong elven magic and there’s not much other than elves that would wander freely so close to the Last Homely House.”

“So, elves, then?” Alan said loud enough for the others to hear him.

“Yes, elves.” You said rolling up the blanket on which you had slept.

“Are they dangerous?” Alan didn’t seem scared but he laid his hand on your shoulder with a worried frown.

“Not unless they mean to be.” Gandalf stood tall and foreboding only a few steps away. He fixed you with a knowing look and turned abruptly. “We head East.”

The road to Rivendell was dreary and uneventful, as you knew it would be. Once you descended into the valley of Rivendell itself you had no words for the beauty of the place. There were words in a book that you had memorised by heart but nothing compared to the beauty of the place itself. Sweeping pathways of white stone, intricately carved archways and scenic yet delicate waterfalls all lent a majestic air to Last Homely House.

The light and melodic voices of the elves sang in the wood and by the water. They were as the voices of angels, sending you into a dreamlike state where everything around you seemed all the more ethereal.

The words came to you, the elvish, you knew. A dim realisation that your pronunciation was off but then, you’d never truly heard the language spoken, only learned it from text and script that was supposed to be fiction, or in films which were also fiction. Now it was realised as fact and you grinned huge at that confirmation.

“What’s that sound?” Alan said in a drunken-like daze, lightly gripping your wrist as you both staggered after Thorin and his company. “Is it angels? Have we died?”

“It’s the elves.” You said with a sigh. “They’re greeting us.”

You gave his hand a quick squeeze, in reassurance. Neither of you pulled away.

More than the voices now, you heard the tune in each stanza as the elves sung their poetry and the company walked onward. No one paid any mind when you began to sing along with them. Initially your elvish was as imperfect as a language learned for vacation functionality but you picked up the subtle differences. And even though you sung louder with each verse, no one paid you any attention. No one but Gandalf.

_O! What are you doing?_

_And where are you going?_

_Your ponies need shoeing!_

_The river is flowing!_

_O! tra-la-la-lally_

_here down in the valley!_

_O! What are you seeking,_

_and what are you making?_

_The faggots are reeking,_

_the bannocks are baking!_

_O! tril-li-li-lolly_

_the valley is jolly,_

_ha! ha!_

_O! Where are you going_

_with beards all a-wagging?_

_Not knowing, not knowing_

_what brings Mister Baggins_

_and Balin and Dwalin_

_down into the valley_

_in June_

_ha! ha!_

_O! Will you be staying,_

_or will you be flying?_

_Your ponies are straying,_

_the daylight is dying!_

_To fly would be folly,_

_to stay would be jolly,_

_and listen and hark_

_till the end of the dark,_

_to our tune_

_ha! ha!_


	4. The Wisdom of an Istari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The council of Elrond - you both prove yourself and deepen the mystery that surrounds you. Alan takes matters into his own hands, unexpectedly making yet another of your wildest dreams come true.
> 
> Things with Thorin and Co turn sour - prejudice is an ugly thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Hints of problems to come in terms of homophobia and prejudice against the main protagonist.*** Just to reassure you - it's going to be fairly mild.
> 
> This is the sum of what I've written before posting anything. I want to write more of this, despite it being a terrifying task. Let me know what you think.

In a haze you entered the home of Elrond Peredhel. The dwarves were restless; even a good-natured dwarf had been known to become annoyed by elves on account of their mischief and teasing.

For you, this was a dream come true, a chance to see the language and people of a realm and time you thought a fiction, come to life around you.

Alan was in awe. The child-like innocence in his eyes lifted your spirits further. He was engrossed in the clothing of the elves and the metal-craft of their circlets and swords.

“The blades are so bright, even in the dim light under the trees.” He practically tugged on your wrist, hands hot against your chilled skin.

“They’re imbued with elven magic.” You informed him, not bothering to keep your volume low. “The markings are runes and symbols in the elven tongue, they give power to the sword and the one who wields it.”

“Do you think I could smuggle one back home.” He laughed. The mischievous glint in his eye made your breath catch, but then there was sadness. “Do you think we’ll ever…”

“If anyone can help us it’ll be Elrond.” You nodded resolutely. “This evening there will be a council to discuss the map, so we will have a chance to ask for help then.”

Once fed and watered, the dwarves were a lot more agreeable. Thorin, Gandalf and Elrond were talking privately to the side of the open-rooved council chamber. The chatter in the room was caused by the rest of the company, though Bilbo was content to sit alone and smoke his pipe.

On a stone table lay the two swords from the troll’s cave and a dusty old map that you knew Thorin carried but had not yet seen with your own eyes.

“These are not troll-made.” Elrond said, stroking his fingers across the markings on one of the swords. “They are old swords. Very old swords made by my kin, the High Elves of the West. They were made-”

“In Gondolin.” You supplied, stepping close enough to the trio to be heard but not overheard. “During the goblin wars.”

“Curious.” Elrond arched his brows to nearly impossible heights. “Tell me, what do you know of these blades?”

“One is Orcrist, the globin-cleaver.” You pointed to the shorter blade that now belonged to Throin. “The other is Glamdring, Foehammer. Once wielded by the King of Gondolin himself.”

“You have ancient knowledge but are not of my kind, nor any elven kind that I have ever known to exist. You are not dwarf and you do not seem to be one of the Dunedain.” He said. “Perhaps you are of the race of men, but there is something guarding you from my sight. A veil passes between us.”

Gandalf leaned close to Elrond, whispering something in his ear that you couldn’t hear. Their discussion was brief but full of fervour on Gandalf’s part.

Elrond’s gaze pierced you to the core and you thought you caught the glimmer of blue adorning his fingers. Your glance down at his hand didn’t go unnoticed and Elrond stepped forward.

“What did you see?” He seemed concerned.

You didn’t know exactly what he meant but you knew you were going to have to tell him enough of the truth to gain his trust and his help.

“I see many things.” You elected for mystery for the time being. “Things that were, things that are, and things that have not yet come to pass.” You cringed at yourself for quoting the Lord of the Rings movie, but needs must. If you ever got to meet Galadriel you’d apologise in person.

“You sense the ring of power?” Elrond frowned. His fingers twitched as if nervous.

“Not _the_ ring of power. But _your_ ring?” You nodded. “I know Vilya lies with you, yes.” And you cast a knowing glance to Gandalf whose hands were shielded by his robe.

The Wizard frowned and you wondered if this was the first time anyone had mentioned The One Ring to him. You supposed not, but Bilbo had yet to find it in the goblin caves under the mountains.

“You are one of the lost Istari?” Elrond asked. 

You shook your head and were mirrored by Gandalf. Thorin looked thoughtfully at you, stroking his beard.

“Anol Etir? That is your name?”

“Close enough.” You smirked at your own hilarity. That name would never get old.

“He is a man, of that I am certain, but perhaps his clairvoyance is not a trait of hereditary and instead he is a herald sent from the Valar to guide us.” Gandalf reasoned.

“You know better than to pin the future of your endeavours on a hope and a prayer, Mithrandir.”

Did he know that though? You cast your mind to the story of Lord of the Rings, entrusting the ring of power to 2 hobbits cast into the wilderness. A fool’s hope.

You sighed.

“I’m a man, we both are.” You tugged Alan forward. “But we’re not from this land.”

“We’re lost.” Alan added.

You went on to explain your situation as best you could, leaving out the part where their entire history is laid out in works of fiction, and their lives an epic fantasy story thought up in the mind of a man long dead and buried.

“And you ask us to believe that you can see the path we will take on our quest to Erebor?” Thorin had listened closely to your tale. “How can I trust that you are not a spy, sent to waylay us?”

“You can’t. Not truly.” You sighed. You and Alan needed their help, and in order to get it you had to help them first, if they’d let you. “But trust that we need your help to get home.”

“The map!” Alan said. “Can you read the map?”

“I can.” You smiled at him. God you wished you could kiss him. You turned to Throin and continued. “The map made by your grandfather, Thror, and passed to your father, Thrain. Gandalf, you bore the map from Dol Guldur into the hands of Thorin. The map and a key, both heirlooms of his lineage.”

Gandalf almost gasped, his bushy eyebrows shooting up as you spoke. Thorin’s hand absently went to his pocket where, no doubt, the key was hidden.

“You brought the map here to Elrond because you believe he can solve its secret.” You continued. “I can also tell you what is hidden on that page, in moon-letters.”

“Moon-letters?” Thorin frowned but Elrond stayed any further speech from the dwarf with a cautionary sweep of his hand.

“It is as I suspected.” Elrond said, reaching for the map to open it fully under the moonlight. “Though chance had not allowed me to view it in the correct setting until now.”

You really hoped you were selling this. If they didn’t decide to help you then both you and Alan would be stranded in Middle Earth for the rest of your lives, which might be shorter than they would be back home on account of the dangerous nature of the world here. At any rate, there would be no going home. There was only the here and now for you both, this quest with Thorin’s company and a chance that this world would not be the only thing you’d know from now on. You knew that in another seventy eight years or so, a young hobbit named Frodo would destroy the One Ring and change Middle Earth forever. But you probably wouldn’t live to see that either.

With the map held up against the crescent moonlight, you read the runes that appeared, silvery against the tarnished parchment.

“Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.”

“Durin’s Day?” Elrond questioned.

Before Thorin could reply you smiled and spoke.

“Dwarven new year.” You revelled in their surprise. “The first day of the last moon of Autumn, and the threshold of Winter.”

“You are both strange and knowledgeable, young fellow.” Thorin clapped you on the back in an incredibly manly and firm way that knocked your breath away. “I will help you once my quest to Erebor is complete, providing that you assist me along the way.

It was a relief to hear Thorin say that, and Gandalf seemed to agree though he kept his thoughts to himself.

Talk turned to Thorin’s plans for his company and the focus shifted from you and Alan. You felt as though you’d at least convinced them of your wisdom and usefulness if you hadn’t assured them you weren’t a spy for the enemy. You drifted away from the council comfortably; you’d stated your case and it was up to them to decide what to do.

“You were amazing!” Alan whispered conspiratorially in your ear. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating from him. “You gave me goosebumps.”

Admiration? Was that what you saw in his eyes? And that twinkle that was always there, gleaming and drawing you in, it was amplified in this place. Something in the air perhaps, or the mellow lighting. He seemed different somehow, like some part of him was left behind when you were ‘transported’ here.

You stepped closer, feeling emboldened by the excitement and atmosphere. The voices of elves singing could still be heard deep in the valley, their songs fair and jolly, and intoxicating.

Elves were open about love, though not all love is platonic, no love was shunned in the valley of Rivendell, nor indeed in the forests of Lothlórien.

“Alan, I…” You swallowed thickly.

How could you say to him all the things you needed to say? That there was a chance you both might die before you got home. And before that could happen you needed to tell him something important. How could you tell your best friend that you had feelings for him above and beyond what a friend should feel. How could you hope for more from him? How could you ask more of him?

“I know.” Alan reached up to swipe a tear from your cheek. It was the only one that fell but he claimed it anyway.

Alan then took you hand and pulled you gently out into the courtyard, down the white stone-lined paths to the banks of the Bruinen River where he huffed down on a bed roll in the spot the elves had set for the company.

“Sit.” He said, patting the blanket beside him. “You had something to say, back there?”

You sat, nerves twisting in your guts.

Alan had gotten so strange all of a sudden that you didn’t know what was going on. Talking to Elrond and Gandalf was easy; you knew this world, knew the books, and knew everything about them. But here with Alan acting _different_ , you felt like there were crosshairs on your back. It was unnerving.

“I did but I forgot.” You lied.

“Okay, I won’t force you.” He shook his head in an almost sad gesture, seeing through your reticence.

He turned towards you, sitting close enough that you could lean forward and rest your forehead on his. The thought occurred to you, but you thought he might shy away. Straight and unavailable as he had always been. You couldn’t even tell him, let alone show him how you felt.

“Fuck it!” Alan said suddenly.

He grabbed the front of your shirt, pulling you forward where his lips awkwardly met yours. You were stunned, confused and you didn’t respond to him, your lips remained a relaxed line. When he pulled back he looked broken.

“What was that for?” You touched your lips absently, not quite focusing on the man you cared so deeply for, who had just given you something you’d wanted for a long time now. Why were you fucking this up?

“If we’re going to die here then I want to at least say I lived the rest of my days with an honest heart.” He said breathlessly, tears glazing his eyes.

Your heart stopped for a beat but that moment felt like a whole age of the earth, you saw a future you never thought possible, especially not back home where the routine of your lives locked you in a holding pattern of platonic friendship. This place, it changed everything, threw everything you both knew and felt up in the air like autumn leaves kicked up by a gust of wind.

You searched his deep brown eyes and the look of sorrow on his face. He thought you didn’t want him. How could he ever think that?

Your hands were suddenly in his hair, framing his face as you dove forward, lips crashing into his as if it were your final lifeline. He responded immediately, awkwardly smushing his lips against yours.

A laugh almost bubbled up in your throat. Why was it that straight guys thought that kissing another guy was any different to kissing a girl? Aside from the possibility of dual facial hair there was no difference.

You tilted his jaw, angling the kiss for more control. Your tongue teased at his lips between the soft and lazy seal of your own. Allowing you entry his eyes fluttered and he groaned lightly as your tongues met and played.

Getting Alan out of his own head had been easy, and now that he was responding to your cues the kiss was rapidly becoming more heated but not more urgent. The slow and gentle exploration of each other was sweet and tender. You stroked his face and hair, trailing your fingers down his neck and across his shoulders. Alan’s hands were gripped in your shirt, stopping any retreat you may have attempted.

This man. _Christ!_ He was turning your world upside down, and it wasn’t even your own world to turn for fuck sake!

The sound of drunken chatter approaching startled you both. Jumping back, Alan coughed nervously, smoothing himself as Thorin and company came near.

A troubled look passed each and every one of their faces, save Bilbo who was too busy staring at juicy red apples hanging from a nearby tree. They’d seen you.

“Perhaps we shall sleep elsewhere tonight.” Thorin grumbled and one by one the dwarves agreed.

There were suspicious glances and mutterings of ‘unnatural’ and ‘devilry’ cast your way as the dwarves passed you both by, with purpose, on their way to find another place to rest for the night.

No more words were exchanged, in fact, you and Alan couldn’t even look at each other. He simply lay down on his side with his back to you and pretended to sleep.

What the hell was that? Your mind was reeling and your heart was hammering in your chest. Alan. This place. Thorin. The dwarves. You needed their help and by the looks of it they’d decided that you weren’t the kind of people who they wanted to help.

Why was it that people could never see past the homosexuality? Until now, you’d helped them, saved their lives even. You decided to try to smooth it all out in the morning but, for now, you needed to sleep. The sounds of elves singing lulled you down into darkness but the memory of Alan’s kiss plagued your dreams and you tossed fitfully on the edge of true rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the Maiar name of the readers character... I like Anol Etir but I almost went for Anol the Brown for more comedy value. I'm happy to throw that in there if it's something you guys think will work ;)


	5. What Power Lies in Memories?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin & Co leave you behind. Gandalf has some words of wisdom for you, and you have some for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little update to the story before we head into the Misty Mountains and invariably encounter danger.
> 
> I'm still going with this though updates will be sporadic because I'm a terrible person and I can't stop starting new projects >.<

The light mist that clung to morning’s chill lay low, just above the ground. Small eddies and currents rippled the pale white layer, the passage of the elves barely effecting the peace of the still air. Dwarves however, they were a different story.

Silently - as much as could be said for dwarves - Thorin and company rose, packed and snuck away in the first grey hours before dawn. Their intention to leave you behind all too clear, but the mischief of elves and their unquestionable hospitality lead to loudly sung farewells that stirred you from your sleep.

Thorin and company made it only to their meeting place with Gandalf before you and Alan caught up with them. You’d skipped a morning wash in one of the still pools by the banks of the river, skipped breakfast too, and barely got your things packed before you were ushered out of Rivendell with a satchel full of supplies and well wishes for your journey.

It felt bitter now, the air surrounding the journey you had pledged to undertake. Marred by the dwarves’ disdain and your own shame. Alan had been silent this morning too, casting only furtive glances your way as you’d rushed like mad to catch up to the party.

“Stay back and don’t interfere.” Thorin had grumbled to you when it was apparent that you weren’t going to be left behind, willingly abandoned.

There were murmurs of ‘scandalous’, ‘wrong’ and ‘unnatural’ from the dwarves which divided your emotions between shame and anger. Why couldn’t they see that it didn’t matter who you loved, you were both just men willing to help them in exchange for help yourselves. The notion that Tolkien’s world of middle earth had some homoerotic hints had resonated with you from the very beginning. From your first reading of his work, the idea that love was love, not matter the gender was something you cherished. Sam and Frodo, weren’t they bound by love? How sad it was to finally arrive here and for it all to have been a lie.

As if sensing your inner turmoil, Gandalf lingered behind as the dwarves carved a path towards the foothills of the Misty Mountains. His sad but kind smile almost brought tears to your eyes.

“Don’t be disheartened, m’boy.” He said gently as you and Alan fell into step beside him. “Dwarves have ever been a stubborn race. That is part of their strength but also will be part of their doom.”

His words were a comfort but did not dispel the deep ache of foreboding in your gut.

“You know where we’re going. You’ve sensed something there too.” You said ominously, after several miles walking in silence with time to consider the road ahead. “It’s dangerous, but there’s only one path for them through the mountains. Even if it is one you have not planned to take.”

Gandalf’s head snapped to the side, his eyes boring into you. You could almost feel the power of the ring he wore as he tried to glean some sort of sense of the power he seemed to think you possessed.

_Whispered words on the breeze. Elvish. Words of power._

When your eyes flickered to his hand, the glint of red seen in your peripheral faded from sight. A glamour.

With a scoffed sigh, the wizard shifted his staff to the other hand and let his sleeve fall to shade your view. How frustrating it must be for him to come up blank. You had nothing but memories of stories read and memorised, a love for a lore so well fleshed out that you could practically live in it; histories, languages, family trees. There is tragedy, victory and love all mixed up in the memories you keep of the fiction. But there’s no real power there. No magic to be wielded. No feats to be achieved. It’s just you and your need to absorb knowledge of the thing you love. It’s just you, trying to resolve this real place with the knowledge you have from a story, like solving riddles in the dark.

“Even the plans of wizards and wise elves can go astray when you’re off adventuring over the edge of the wild.” The wizard said, finally looking away from you. “I am wise enough to know that I do not know all things, but I suspect…” He pondered, seemingly lost in a daydream. “Yes, I suspect, they will need your help before the end.”

“And we’ll be there, as we promised.” Alan piped up with more enthusiasm than his recent stoicism would lead you to believe possible. “We are good to our word, Mr Gandalf. Help for help is all we want.”

For the first time since your kiss, he touched you. It was a simple gesture; his hand on your shoulder, too light to be a manly display of camaraderie but too heavy to be a caress. It said ‘I’ve got you. I care’ and for that you were thankful. A weak smile was all you had for him but it was enough. Meeting his big brown eyes, you saw him return it, settling the nerves in your stomach. You two were still good, and that was all that mattered in that moment.

“I don’t doubt it young man, I don’t doubt it.” Gandalf chuckled at Alan’s exuberance. “Oh! For the love of the leaf, you’d think dwarves would be good at reading maps!” He huffed and stomped off at a brisk walk to the head of the column where it seemed a decision was being made badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, there's no way you're going to let them leave you behind. There's an adventure to be had my dear boy! An adventure!
> 
> I hope I do the characters justice and this is at least a little entertaining. Let me know what you think, peace :)

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave comments, I may have completely missed the mark on this and should probably be told to stop lol. On the other hand, you might really like it, in which case, feel free to tell me that too :)


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